Abrogate
by kenthel
Summary: For the one of rationality to bring to conclusion, the beginning of reality brought on by illusion.


Abrogate

The quiet ticking of his wristwatch was all that Roxas could hear as he sat by his window. Outside, light grey clouds obliterated the sunlight and released small, white snowflakes to settle on the ground. They flew to the left awkwardly, being gently pushed by a cold winter wind. It was quite chilly out there, Roxas deduced as he saw his breath condensing on the glass, obstructing the view of the comforting sight of the flurries. Remarkably peaceful for once in the castle of the World That Never Was as he sat alone in his bedroom. He had pulled the wooden chair from his desk which normally sat in the corner where he reviewed the documentation of his missions and occasionally added a tidbit here and there that he had forgotten to state originally. Now, he did not bother himself with such mindless paperwork, which lay discarded on the oak desk, his pen lying without its cap where he had left off. Though the chair wasn't the most adequate type of relaxant, he didn't pay it too much mind.

While Roxas was seated, he thought of the solitude and appreciated it. Sometimes, when he sits and wonders why he was part of the Organization. Not to be a skeptic, but he didn't believe in his so called purpose. The way their group was named, made it feel like a business instead of members with like goals working together to achieve them. Perhaps, that is what a business is supposed to be, what their Organization is supposed to be. How could they be made to be something when they aren't supposed to exist? Baffling concept, Roxas would say to himself. That his own being goes against all of which he had been taught, that he was the ultimate defiance in himself. He would sit in front of a mirror, or catch his own eye in the reflection on the window and ask why he was there, why was anything there? Reality loses meaning as he stares into his own apathetic eyes and can see straight through his blue iris for hours and not be able to recognize the image of the black overcoat with silver drawstrings for the hood and zipper clothing the body below a head with blonde spiked hair and young, indifferent face as himself. Is that really him? Or could it be an illusion, or a figment of an overactive imagination?

He would try to bring the topic up with his allies, but he'd be shoved off as if he were strange. He'd be notified that his thoughts alienated the others since they were weird. Roxas would object to the word, stating how its meaning is only given by people, that nothing was weird in reality. Then, he'd stop with his mind's inner works being to turn again as he repeated the word real in his mind and attempted to match it with his surroundings. It wasn't real.

Frigid air escaped into the room from the opened window. The dry, almost bitter draft tickled Roxas' nose with its numbing touch as he inhaled deeply. Calmness being a constant, he was not troubled by the cold sensation as it traveled through and around him. It was a welcome change from the consistent temperature of the castle he resided in. The great and marvelous Castle That Never Was, about as luxurious and homey as its name was original. With its bleary coatings of white and grey with perhaps the ever occasional splash of black, it gave off a forlorn, wasting feeling. He hypothesized that it represented the essence of the true feeling of being a Nobody, or lack thereof. Absent tall walls almost as boundaries that were constructed just short of the great unknown that is the solace, so it was said, of Kingdom Hearts. Even the castle's highest pinnacle was shamed by the height of the paradise. So close, yet so far away. The ever mysterious heart-shaped moon cast a taunting shadow down on them as they writhed and revolted. Protesting such injustice through the merciless slaughter of creatures of corrupted heart in offering, the selfish haven collects every deal on the table while leaving those trapped in hell to perish.

Roxas' fingers paled as they as rested on the windowsill, bearing the chilled air as they numbed over. Losing his feeling as the cold bit into his skin, it left him in a state of actuality. This state of unconsciousness of his hands is how he should feel all the time. In a time of comatose while his inexistent heart pumped a sense of perfunctorinessthrough his unused arteries. He flexed his hand into a fist, but it didn't seem to clench through his deadened nerves. He repeated the process until he felt the wave of receptivity flow down his fingers as they tingled with life as he felt the prick of the air once again. Roxas brought his hands to his mouth and exhaled damp, moist breath on them. He then purposely breathed onto the window, leaving a visible fog on its surface. He pressed a single fingertip to it, leaving a dot. He made another adjacent to it. Thinking for a moment, he then drew a gently curved line with both ends tilted up beneath them. Observing it with a dull expression, his eyes flicked back to his own reflection. With effort, he tried to mimic his drawing, the edge of one lip angling up to create a false smirk. Looking at himself, the smile looked like an abomination to his callous face. If the most known sign of happiness looks like such a lie, could he ever be happy, even with a heart?

Turning away from the window, he felt the breeze venture down his neck causing a shiver to course down his spine. Going back to it, he eyed the picture for another moment before he used his hand to wipe it away, leaving streaks on the glass. Roxas thought of if he could have been jealous of the simple, smiling face, but envy requires emotion, he reminded himself. The face had been unnecessary, and thus was removed. Besides, it was simply a drawing. It wasn't real.

The bedroom door opened when he approached it automatically as though it sensed his presence. It was reassuring to see that even something as insignificant as a door acknowledged his existence. Roxas entered the narrow, grey hallway and checked both directions for possible incomings only to see he was alone, the path down to the other member's quarters vacant. As he walked, the soft ticking of his watch was drowned by the sound of the heels of his shoes landing on the metal floor with a slight clang joined by the clink of the silver drawstrings of his hood colliding with each other. It echoed about the corridor eerily, giving an impression that there was someone following him. Almost with paranoia, he stopped and threw a glance behind him to only see the empty hallway staring back at him. Satisfied with his lack of follower, he continued, but still questioning himself as swore that he could hear another close by.

Roxas passed six doors each marked with its occupant's assigned number in which they remained motionless and uninviting as he went by. He thought of how his kind was amazingly anti-social. Instead of binding together like a chain, each detached itself from the union. He knew that no great accomplishment would be done at that rate. It reminded him of the snake that needed to pull itself together in order to survive. If the Organization had been that snake, they all would have faded a very long time ago. Surprisingly enough, as he started by the next door, it opened for him. Marked with the symbol, VI, it had been the room of Zexion, the Cloaked Schemer. He had been in Castle Oblivion when he had been slain by a replica. Roxas, not having been on any form of personal terms, never gave it much thought. Now, however, it caught his interest. Peeking into the uninhabited room of number VI, he noticed it was devoid of any type of furniture. There was dust collecting on the floor and the paint was chipping off of the walls. Also, a window was ajar on the wall opposite the door, chilling the room. As the wind gusted, it whistled through the cracked open window loudly. In the corner, a dusty, black volume lay against the wall, seemingly abandoned. The room in general, seemed like it used to be a quiet thoughtful sanctuary. Why, he wondered, had Zexion left his book in the room and nothing else?

It had begun to snow more heavily outside when Roxas first stepped into the room. Slowly, cautiously, he looked around keeping his eyes strained for any foreign noise or motion. The wind gusted then, howling through the window. Figuring the coast clear, he came up to the window and pushed it shut. When an odd silence settled on the room, he could still hear a slight wind. It sounded like a faint whisper being breathed into his ears. A mechanical sound was heard behind him. Intrigued, he turned and saw the door had closed. Considering it a delayed reaction of an unused system, he tested it by returning to the door. No reaction as he stood directly in front of it, or when he pressed the manually operated switch to the left of the door. Thinking for a moment, he figured it could be jammed and tried to remember if the door was soundproof. He looked back around the roomed and raised an eyebrow. Beside the window there was now a large bookshelf filled with wide array of novels and texts. There was a lamp turned on to bathe the shine of the clean wooden flooring. Next to the lamp there was a comfortable looking armchair in the corner with a cloaked man seated in it, intently reading a lengthy black book in his lap. He looked up for a moment and locked his dark eyes whose view was slightly impaired by slate bangs with Roxas'. Through all the time Roxas had spent in his unfeeling torment, he finally felt he had fallen over the edge of sanity with this sight. It couldn't be real.

The sky had darkened considerably in the time spent in mutual muteness. The lull was ended abruptly by a flash of lightning from the window accompanied by the roar of thunderous clouds and the start of rainfall. Unperturbed by the sudden alteration of scenery, he glanced back over to where Zexion had sat to find the dark green chair empty. The hushed wind returned to his attuned ears with quiet distinguishable rhythm. It was then he had realized that they were cold and monotonous. Being repeated, he now heard them in his thoughts, gently pushing out all others until the echoed to him constantly in an organized crescendo until he could decipher the coaxing syllables. Released yourself from routine and opened your eyes to the unseen. Abrogate reality to abolish normality and venture into actuality where in lies no fallacy. Disregard such delusion and confusion; simply abrogate the illusion.

Clamping his eyes shut and covering his ears, he felt powerless to the overpowering voice whispering from just behind. Unable to think, he let himself fall into instinct. From a brief flash of light, a long black sword with key-like features appeared in his hand. Swiftly swinging his unique weapon backwards, his arm jarred when it made contact with Zexion's gloved hand, who was watching his motions with disinterest. His hand pulled the blade from Roxas effortlessly and examined it while Roxas looked on in disbelief, never before such a feat been managed. In silent contemplation, he knew that he was in Zexion's realm, given him a distinct advantage. Or, he thought, the image of one. He demanded the return of his sword, to which he gained no reply but to have Zexion grasp its handle and strike at the air with ease before returning his gaze to Roxas. Speaking softly and evenly, he questioned Roxas' need for such an object in the current situation. It would not unlock the door, he had pointed out logically, and seeing as Zexion alone had the ability to do so, he would require patience until the other was finished with him. Clearly stating that he had no business with Zexion, he requested to depart with the promise of never again visiting. His offer ignored, Zexion again repeated his first words. Rapping his mind for conclusion, Roxas asked himself, if everything he seems to see is pretense, how can he uncover which is illusion, and which is real?

Without warning, Zexion struck Roxas with a heavy blow to the side, causing him to topple over. He quickly rolled to face his opponent, who was standing over him with an air of superiority, holding the weapon out in front of him and motioning for Roxas to stand. Complying, he stood, holding his left for a moment before summoning a second sword with characteristics similar to the other. This one, however, was white, decorated with soft blues and yellows towards the tip and the handle. He hesitated for just a moment before leaping above Zexion with a vertical cut. A long clang sounded about the room as Zexion parried expertly, shifting his weight at the same time to thrust the flat of his blade against Roxas', knocking him back. Using his momentum, Roxas landed on one foot and swung his weight around to thrust at Zexion's midsection. Sidestepping, Zexion took notice of Roxas being off balance from lack of impact and brought the black blade down upon his wrist, forcing the white blade to fall from his hand, which clattered noisily on the floor, leaving a few nicks in the wood. Before Roxas could react, Zexion quickly kicked Roxas, knocking him again to the ground. As he stared up at Zexion, now wielding both of his weapons, he backed away helplessly. It couldn't be real.

Roxas knew he wasn't afraid, even as he came to think he could be facing death in this very room. He kept eye contact in defiance as he was pushed into a corner with excessive force, sending shots of pain up his back. Weakened, he couldn't find the strength to pull at Zexion's grip on his throat which held him fast, a few inches above the ground. His kicked at him feebly in struggle, trying to escape. Knowing screaming was a waste of breath from all he had done prior; he remained mute, gasping for air. Too weak to summon the abandoned blade left on the chair, he focused on keeping consciousness as his vision began to fade. Not wishing to have those cold eyes as his last sight, he looked over to the lamp and it benign yellow light as the thunder boomed once again from outside, mixing with the sounds of downpour.

In that moment, he saw it. A grayish haze was around the lamp, the chair, the bookshelf. It made them appear intangible, like a ghost. When the lightning had shown in its quick flash through the room, in the light, they were transparent. Dizzy and lightheaded, Roxas was reminded off his words. Abrogate the illusion. If all was false around him, then he had felt no pain. He looked back to Zexion with new lucidity as he called for the blade on the chair. Feeling the familiar weight in his desperate hand, he plunged the sword into his chest. Immediately, he was released as the hand that had grasped him was now clutched to Zexion's injured chest. He backed away, bending over a bit as black mist rose from him. He stumbled into the wall and leaned on it for support as he dislodged the weapon and dropped it to the ground. As he himself started to become permeable, he looked to Roxas, who was standing with both of his blades in hand, watching him whither. Then, Zexion gave Roxas an ironic smile and a nod just before completely fading from his vision along with the other objects in the room. It was then lightly snowing outside the window, and the mechanical door was open, letting in light from the hall. He noticed the black book lying at his feet. Dismissing his weapons, he bent over and picked it up. Opening the cover, he read the flyleaf. Released yourself from routine and opened your eyes to the unseen. Abrogate reality to abolish normality and venture into actuality where in lies no fallacy. Disregard such delusion and confusion; simply abrogate the illusion. On the next page, it only had a single sentence. For the one of rationality to bring to conclusion, the beginning of reality brought on by illusion. The remainders of the pages were blank. Roxas wondered, what if he could shed light onto such a false world with his words?

When Roxas crossed the room, he brought the unfinished book with him. He paused for a moment at the doorway and looked back, seeing nothing but his own shadow and footsteps in the dust. He let out a sigh as he turned, leaving the room completely barren save for the slight shadow lingering by the door. He gave it no recognition. It wasn't real.


End file.
